


Road trip with a Dream Demon

by dustsceawung



Series: Always a con going on somewhere [1]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Gen, Homelessness, Mullet Grunkle Stan, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Reckless Driving, Sleep Deprivation, Stangst, Starvation, Suicidal Thoughts, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-28
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-11-20 04:08:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11328303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dustsceawung/pseuds/dustsceawung
Summary: Stanley Pines is sleep-deprived, starving, cold, and driving across the country because his brother sent him a postcard.Well. Bill can't have that.In which 'Dreamscapers' wasn't the first time Bill Cipher went into Stan's mind and Stan is fucking done with this shit or In which Stan is way too royal for his own good





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Bill and Stan interaction! Bill and Stan interaction! Bill and Stan interaction! 
> 
> I mean Stan was in gravity falls for a long time, was working on the portal and everything, and it's kinda hard to believe that bill just.. let him be so...
> 
> (Also I watched Dreamscape again and bill shows the image of that one sigil on Stan's shoulder and BILL AND STAN INTERACTION AHH I LOVE THEM)
> 
> So yeah I'd love to write a whole series on Stan and Bill interaction but who knows how long my motivation will last.. (side eyes In memory and in time) But I do hope this little thing about Stan's reckless driving gets finished!  
> Please enjoy, Feedback appreciated!

Well, he always knew that he was going to die in the stanleymobile. He just didn’t think that he was going to die because of his fucking brother. 

It’s not Ford’s fault, really, that he needed to turn to not crash into the fuck fuckfuckfuckfuck- 

He swerved, just in time. The pounding heartbeat pushed away the haze of exhaustion, made him actually alert for a little while. He gathered himself, pulled the tattered jacket closer to himself, and pushed the axle again. Better make decent headway to Oregon before he dozed off again. It would have been nice if he could make his way to his brother before he had, what, fifteenth near-death experience on the road.

“Yeah, That’d be easier if you didn’t drop to the dreamscape every twenty minutes, smart guy! At this rate, I’d think that you’re gonna die in this nowheresville and I know exactly when and how you die!”

“Oh hey, hallucination. Sweet.”

There’s a flying doritos in front of him. This particular doritos had eyes, a top hat, and limbs that were so stick thin that it couldn't possibly be useful.

“WELL! You’re dreaming, actually, and I’m here to be the voice of reason!”

The triangle started laughing uncontrollably at that, and Stan watched the guy blearily. No wonder he got into so much trouble, if this asshole was his voice of reason. 

“Yeah, can I wake up now? I need to go to my idiotic brother.”

“But Fishhh! that’s exactly what I WANT TO talk about!”

He spun around him, and then perched on his right shoulder. Stan tried to bat him away, but couldn’t seem to touch him. His arm moved weird, like he had been in the cold for too long. Not that that wasn’t the case, but he swore his arm passed through this guy. Goddamn dream logic, he thought. 

“Stanford PInes! You lil cookie is almost crashing yourself to early death every five minutes with no food and zero sleep for what, eighteen hours, forty six minutes, twenty five-six-seven seconds for him, amiright?”

The ‘Voice of reason’ ruffled his hair with his creepy noodle arms. Stan grimaced, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. Was the wheel there before? Whatever, dream logic.

“What I’m trying to say is…. Let’s be real here. You know Sixer, I know Sixer, and we both sure as the fourth ring of HELL know that he’s not gonna be greatful that you dropped everything to come help him! In fact, I bet he expects you to grovel before you get to help him with whatever important, speecial work.”

Stan grits his teeth, ready to say something but the yellow triangle asshole thwacks his head with suprising force, and floats to his sight. 

“So! You’re voice of reason is telling you to QUIT WHILE YOU’RE AHEAD! Get a job, get married, have two and a split-horizontal half kid, die thinking you’re going to your fictional afterlife, whateverrrr, I don’t actually care BUT!”

The doritos-guy zoom damn close to his face, and in his eyes Stan can see Ford turning away, closing the curtain, holding that toffee-peanut wrapper and shouting at him-

“Let Sixer die in a ditch somewhere, kay, Fish? Not like he didn’t do that to you.”

“Look, I-”

“You are definitely not the main cast of this story, yanno what I’m saying? So, Let Ford be, go on with your meaningless, insignificant lives, andddd- oh, hey. Think fast!” 

Stan opened his eyes. His car was hurtling towards another tree. He’s gonna crash any second now- 

 

Fucking figures.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another chapt in Stan has bad driving habits! (For fucks sake pull up somewhere and get some goddamn sleep and strech at least thank god noone else is driving in this RIDIKULOUS WEATHER) Bill is fucking frustrated by Stan's emotional... something. The half was written pretty fast to it might have some problem... eh tell me if you spot anything and thanks to anyone reading this!

He jerked the wheel just in time. God.

“Well, isn't this is becoming a common occurrence.”

He gasped, the hand gripping the wheel feeling weak. His car had veered into middle of the road. At least it was empty, letting Stan catch a moment. He leaned his head on the seat. Everything felt stiff. Except for his heart, which was still racing with rapid beats. He spat out some curses. It felt flat in the cold wind.

That was new. He started out in fucking new mexico. Did that mean he was close?

He sat up in the ratty carseat. Backed up, slowly. Got the car into the lane again. Pressing down on the axle felt like pushing through sheets of ice. The Car started moving again, slowly. He flexed his fingers, just to check that his fingers were moving, he was alive and awake. The movement felt disconnected.

He was going to ruin his tires like this.

The burst of Adrenalin, as always, didn’t last long. The tedium of empty road bore down on him. In a slow movement, he craned his neck. Sting of pain shot up with a distant sense that the muscle there wasn’t supposed to be like that. Nothing he wasn’t used to, after years of living in the car. He leaned his head to the other side, slower and stopped at the resistance. Pointdexter had better give him a damn massage, after he got through… whatever Ford called him for.

He had gotten into woodsy area a while ago, plenty of trees to drive himself into, and it had gotten so cold that he had shivers going through his body constantly. He’d have thought the sting of the cold air would make him alert, but he only felt more and more tired. It was fine. He was still gripping the wheels, right?

He wasn’t going to make him brother wait. (Even if Ford made him wait for over ten years.)

“Wait, What?”

The nasally voice that was getting old fast exclaimed.

“Great. I’ll just wake up before I almost crash again.”

Stan muttered, even though he couldn’t have been possibly sleeping again. How could he be sleeping when he was so goddamn tired?

“Look, Dorothy. Didn’t you notice you’re going the wrong direction? This. Is. Not Fucking Kansas.”

“I have been driving on a single road for basically three hours. How the hell am I going the wrong way”

“What. You’re seriously still going to Fordsy? Holy buckaroo, you are SHITTING ME!”

The triangle floated right up to his eyes, and held his face.

“Look, Fish. Ford is not going to be glad that you came. He’s off changing the world and he does not need his useless tagal-”  
Stan slammed his head at the triangle. It felt sluggish, and he felt like he was falling, maybe. He went right through the yellow triangle. Aborted sound of the honking shocked him awake more than the pain of hitting his head on the wheel.

The car was slightly off the lane. The car righted, he gritted his teeth and blinked until his sight was clear. He definitely couldn’t stop for a nap now. Next time he fell asleep, he could wake up and turn his car around.

He hadn’t noticed the snowing, when he first woke. But the weather could be called blizzard by now. It was hard to see through the snow. And a headache had formed, dull and pounding and constant as the weather. He had to get gas, somewhere along the way. It was getting a little low, and he might have known his Stanleymobile by heart but well. Stan had learned to not trust anything quite wholly, hadn’t he?

His precious vehicle felt more like a shackle, now. The car felt so damn heavy, even though he knew that it made no sense, and the stale air of his ratty car was like a filthy, overgrown skin thrown over him.

“-This is pointless-”

Had he said that? He wasn’t sure. The white surrounding, the empty road, the engine droning on, everything was blank. Stan felt like he should be cold. He probably was.

“-And honestly. What do you think you’ll do when you get to him? Do you really think you can help Sixer with whatever mess he had gotten into?”

Stan turned. There wasn’t even a hallucinatory vision of the triangle. He was awake. Right? He was awake.

“I’m awake.”

He said, just to be sure. He could see the barren road ahead of him. Not that there was much to see.

“Whatever you say, bruiser. Although, if you keep going on like this, you’ll off yourself. Not that that’s not hilarious. But how will I use you then?”

“Fuck you.”

“That’s really elegant of you. Hey, think that’s the starvation talking, or the lack of sleep? Wait. did I forget something, yeah, that funny sounding word.”

He blinked. His sight seemed to warp every time he closed his eyes, but when he tried to take a closer look everything seemed fine.

“Hypothermia?”

“Yeah! That!”

The disembodied voice cackled through the silent woods. A fleeting touch went around his shoulder. Stan jumped, but when he bat his hand, nothing was there, not a peep to be heard. Stan had just been lulled into the silence when the voice spoke again.

“You’re pathetic.”

It sounded like dad. Stan stared at the windshield. Was that a bug? No. Nothing there. Just his eyes playing tricks again.

“It’s true, you know. It’s almost funny. The way that you scramble to be something.”

Stan thought about the tattered postcard, the words. Short.

‘Please come.’

They rang in his head until he had gotten in the car, and echoed and echoed, different iteration of his brother’s voice caged in his mind. It didn’t stop until he had gotten on the highway, barely under the speed limit. Still, even after the road gave him some feeling like freedom, like a breath of fresh air, he held on to those words.

The road didn’t feel like freedom now.

“You think that the postcard changes anything? It’s two words! It’s what you’d say to a goddamn plumber. It’s nothing. Are you listening to me? It doesn’t fucking mean anything! Stanford hates you!”

He stopped.

The whole road was empty anyway. Stan let himself lean his head on the wheel and curled upon himself. Gas was low. He could just stop. He could not go anywhere. (It was always Ford who would be going places, anyway.) And maybe he could actually close his eyes, and sleep. When the weather lifted, they might find him. Cold and dead and in middle of nowhere. And maybe Ford would see him, and maybe he would think that Stan had tried, but the gas ran out, and Stan did, he tried to reach him but he failed, like he failed everything in his goddamn life and hey, Ford didn’t get whatever he needed from Stan, but Stan had tried, right?

Not his fault he was a fuckup.

So. Ford would know he tried. And he’d get someone else for whatever and they’d both get some fucking peace. Stan, mostly. He’d get peace. All he had to do was not move.

Now that he didn’t see the road, everything was black. His heartbeat went thump, thump, thump, slowly. Sounded like it’s okay to go to sleep, okay to give up-

He raised his head again. Opened his eyes.

The world remained the same cold, white bleakness. And the road. Something rose up his throat, the hottest thing he could manage in the goddamn cold. He thought it might have been a sob. Then a firm step on the accelerator.

With the movement came the headache again. He thought he could hear a voice-

“Fucking, Fisher. What the fuck is even wrong with you-”

He drove on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pls come talk to me on my tumblr I have like twelve AUs I wanna write https://www.tumblr.com/blog/gtmfafc

**Author's Note:**

> (My tumblr is https://www.tumblr.com/blog/gtmfafc and Im always a slut for talking about cannon divergence/AUs, character whatever )


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